The Last of the Moon Girls(101)
Lizzy opened her mouth to scream but there was no one to hear, no one coming to help. And it was already too late. She registered the sound of shattering glass as the milk bottle crashed to the floor, then a burst of heat and light as the kerosene flashed.
Dennis was engulfed in seconds, shrieking as the flames swallowed him whole. He thrashed briefly, then folded to his knees, a macabre marionette whose strings had been cut. He writhed a moment more, facedown in the flames, like a swimmer out of water, then went still.
Lizzy gulped back panicky sobs as bile swam up into her throat. She covered her nose and mouth, the stench of kerosene and charred flesh suddenly overwhelming. The flames were spreading rapidly now, devouring swaths of bone-dry timber as they crawled across the floor and up one of the walls. In minutes her only path to safety would be blocked.
Breath held, she dropped to her knees—something she’d learned in grade school fire drills—and scurried past the lapping flames. The barn had grown strangely dark as clouds of greasy smoke swallowed the wavering firelight. Lizzy groped her way to the door, fumbling frantically with the latch.
There was a deep huff of air as she burst through the door, like a sharply indrawn breath, and then a searing burst of wind that sent her sprawling into the dirt. She lay there a moment, choking down mouthfuls of clean air. The barn was engulfed now, moaning and crackling as the flames continued to feed, churning inky smoke into a pristine blue sky.
The sight should have gutted her, but she felt strangely numb as she watched the devastation, as if her mind had somehow become unmoored from her body. She should do something, call someone, but she suddenly found herself incapable of stringing two thoughts together. In the distance the wail of sirens, thin at first, then louder, closer. She closed her eyes. Someone had seen the smoke. Someone was coming.
FORTY
Lizzy shifted the disposable ice pack on her jaw and opened her eyes, willing her vision to clear. Blurred vision. Vomiting. Confusion. All consistent with a blow to the head, and all signs of a concussion, according to Janie, the paramedic who had advised her in the strongest terms possible to go to the ER, get herself X-rayed, and have her pulmonary function assessed. At least the ringing in her ears had subsided. She’d even gotten most of the assessment questions right, fumbling only the name of the current president.
Somewhere in the middle of the assessment, she had blurted out that they would find Dennis Hanley in the barn. Janie’s partner, Hal, had disappeared soon after, presumably to inform whoever was in charge that they would need to call the ME’s office.
“All set?” Janie asked, as they prepared to load her into the back of the medic rig. “Hal’s playing chauffeur. I’ll be in back with you.”
Lizzy nodded, looking down at the straps securing her to the stretcher. It wasn’t like she had a choice.
“Wait! Please!” It was Rhanna, wild-eyed and breathless, churning up the driveway. “Let me see her, please! Lizzy, baby—” She broke off with a gasp, her eyes swimming with tears. “My god—your face.”
Lizzy narrowed her eyes, struggling to focus. “What are you doing back?”
“Never mind that! What happened to you?”
“I’m okay,” she mumbled around the ice pack. “They just want to check me out. Where’s Evvie?”
“She’s behind me somewhere. We had to park on the street. We saw the smoke . . .” She reached for Lizzy’s hand, her face crumpling. “Oh, baby . . . how did this happen?”
Janie stepped in before Lizzy could respond. “Sorry. We need to take her now. She’ll be at Memorial.”
“Right. Sorry.” She smiled at Lizzy as she stepped back, but her chin began to wobble. “We’ll be right behind you.”
“No. Wait. Will you ride with me?” Lizzy’s eyes slid to Janie’s. “Can she? She’s my mother.”
Janie hiked a shoulder. “Works for me. What do you say, Mom—ready to roll?”
Rhanna brought Evvie up to speed while Janie and Hal loaded Lizzy into the rig and prepared for transport. When Hal gave the signal, Rhanna climbed in and settled beside Janie.
Lizzy reached for her hand as the rig started down the driveway. “Thanks for coming with me.”
Rhanna wiped her eyes, a smile trembling at her lips. “Sorry to be such a Weepy Wilma. It’s just . . . before, when you asked if I could ride with you, did you say I was your mother because you thought she’d say no if I weren’t?”
Lizzy was surprised to feel the prickle of tears behind her own lids. “I said it because it’s who you are. I saw your face just now, when you saw me strapped to this stretcher. You were scared—for me.” She closed her eyes, swallowing convulsively as Althea’s words drifted back. Bridges can be built across the widest chasms, even when all we have to build with are broken pieces. “It’s time to stop punishing you.”
Lizzy squinted at the vision chart tacked to the trauma room wall until the double images finally resolved into one. The glare from the overhead fluorescents wasn’t doing her headache any favors. Unfortunately, in the case of concussion, most pain meds were contraindicated. They’d given her acetaminophen, but so far it hadn’t helped much.
After much pleading, the doctor had agreed to let her go home, but only because Rhanna had promised to keep her still, wake her every few hours, just to be on the safe side, and strictly prohibit all electronics, which shouldn’t be difficult now that her cell phone had been reduced to ash.